


Sunlight

by ArdenSkyeHolmes221



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Family Feels, Fireworks, Fix It, Fluff and Angst, Fourth of July, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Endgame, Tony Stark Has A Heart, mini golf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19474735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/pseuds/ArdenSkyeHolmes221
Summary: “Stop pouting and ignoring me. You’re giving me a complex.”“I am— I’m not pouting,” he sputters, avoiding his father’s gaze.“Oooh, but you are ignoring me.”***Or the one where Peter struggles reintegrating in his own life after his dad lived five years without him.





	Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hailingstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/gifts).



> USA! USA! USA! here have some Americana angst!

“Stop pouting and ignoring me. You’re giving me a complex.”

Peter jerks from his thoughts, accidentally whacking his hand against his forehead in the process of turning around at his dad’s entrance to his room. He hates when he is so distracted that he doesn’t notice when someone he is comfortable with slips by his internal radar. (Then again, there is a tiny, niggling voice at the back of his head that said he’d never feel safe again.)

“I am— I’m not pouting,” he sputters, rubbing the tender spot, avoiding his father’s gaze. 

“Oooh, but you _are_ ignoring me.” 

Peter keeps doing just that as his dad moves away from the doorway and winds up sitting down on his bed, the added weight dipping near Peter’s knees. Silence festers. A hand settles atop his leg and out of reflex Peter’s eyes flick to it. 

“Pete,” his dad calls, soft and pleading. 

He peeks up at him. “Hi.” 

“Hey, you,” his smile is genuine, though the right side cannot pull up as high as the left because of healing skin leftover from saving the universe. Only so much surgeries can do for a man before the body is left to heal. “I miss you.” 

His heart clenches. Peter bites his cheeks to keep tears from falling, “I’m right here.”

“I’m going to get my heart-to-heart out of you,” his father says, tone pitching as he goes for levity but Peter knows Tony Stark well enough to recognize it as a front to keep out heavy emotions. “I don’t mind waiting but I’m going to have to force it on you at some point. You get your avoidance techniques from me and for that I’m sorry.”

Peter scrunches his eyebrows at the proclamation. 

Instead of continuing with the conversation and the heavy emotions, his father pats his leg twice before standing up. “Pack your bags.” 

“What?” he says brilliantly, pushing up onto his forearms to watch his dad’s back as he meanders back towards the doorway in Peter’s new bedroom at the lake house. “Why?” 

“We’re going to California.” 

“Now?” Peter isn’t expecting a sudden trip. Sudden trips stopped sometime around sixth or seventh grade, when missing school became too much of an unavoidable issue. And technically his father is still recovering and is meant to be taking it easy. And technically he isn’t counting skipping out on outside school functions as trips anymore; not since… well, _since._ “Ummm….” 

“Oh no.” his father spins back around, eyebrows pinched, and he mimes a zipping motion. “Not you too. Pep nags me enough and she’s already okayed the trip.” 

So Peter bites down on his lower lip. California is the best, really. Up until the Avengers assembled full time, Peter and Tony lived in Malibu. Well, that’s not true. It wasn’t until after the loss of their mansion that they moved and that happened after the initial assemble. In fact, Peter remembers how hard he took moving cross country to Manhattan, kicking up a fuss about leaving his home and friends and anything and everything he thought would get his father to reconsider. Nothing changed Tony’s mind. He hated it. Eventually they went back to find Dum-E and U then promptly returned to the east coast. Peter’s yet to return.

“We leave in forty-five minutes.” 

Peter groans, “You couldn’t have given me more time?” 

A shadow of a smirk echoes on his father’s lips, “And give you the opportunity to back out? Nope. And hey, look at it this way, we can buy whatever you forget to pack.” 

Momentarily forgetting he is supposed to be ignoring the man, Peter levels his father with all the displeasure he can scrounge up as he inquires, “Where are we staying? It’s not like we have a mansion to go to anymore.” 

“Forty-five minutes and counting! FRI’s on babysitting duties,” his dad sing-songs on the way out the door, ignoring Peter as expertly as he’s ignoring his father. 

“Figures,” he grumbles under his breath as his elbows give up on supporting his weight and he lays back down. 

“Do you need help locating your luggage, Peter?” FRIDAY speaks from on high, all around and as pestering as ever. 

Despite not knowing where majority of his belongings are now that his father and step-mother moved from a skyscraper with a view to a farmhouse on a lake, Peter petulantly answers, “No.” 

“If you say so,” replies FRIDAY. “You need only ask like Miss Morgan.” 

Peter rolls his eyes, buries his face in his pillow, breathes, then slowly rolls off the bed and begins the tedious process of impromptu packing. 

Everyone treats him differently now that he is suddenly among the living after missing five years inside an infinity stone or gem or rock or whatever the fuck everyone happens to refer to it. 

His dad is still his dad and yet Peter heard his heart _stop_ and Peter struggles to get over that little tidbit. He is sixteen years old and all he wants is for his dad to make everything better. Physical side-effects of saving the universe are prominent, though slowly fading away, keep Peter from ignoring everything. His heart clenches and spasms whenever he looks at his dad. Peter aches. Tony isn’t exactly being awkward though he is doing this thing about allowing Peter to come to him with his problems instead of pestering him until he cracks and Peter doesn’t like it. A piece of him wants to be coddled but he’s too afraid to ask. All he wants is normal but normal has never liked Peter. 

Then there is Pepper. She isn’t necessarily treating him differently only it’s odd because his mother-figure is now his official step-mother. Dad married Pepper while he was… gone. Dead. Unavailable. Whatever. Her smiles are full of warmth, love, and kindness. None of that matters whenever Peter remembers his dad’s heart stopping and Pepper’s hands on his shoulders, moving him out of the way. Shame crawls into his belly and rooms with guilt because he hates knowing that Pepper had more of right with his dad, if those moments had truly been his final ones, with her husband; he’d been pushed away when less than an hour beforehand he’d been told he had been dead five years only for _that_ tidbit to be bookended by Peter having to essentially watch his father die. He died in his father’s arms. His dad didn’t die in his arms. 

Mayhem surrounding him so completely did nothing to diminish the sounds of his dad’s heart stuttering and never picking back up again. He had _died._

Then at the hospital, during the thirty-six hour initial operation to save his father’s life, Peter learns about Morgan. His sister. She is all of four years old, another miniature replica of his father, curious and inquisitive, and he has absolutely no idea how to act around her. So he avoids her therefore avoiding his dad and Pepper at the same time. So Peter is left to stew in a negative cycle alone. 

“Fuck,” he curses, rubbing his eyes until spots float in multicolor against his eyelids. 

He heaves himself into sitting upright then rises from bed. 

“No sass,” he prefaces, head bowed as he rummages through his dresser drawers, “FRI, where are my suitcases?”

“Under your bed, Peter.” 

He grunts his gratitude. 

He finishes in twenty minutes, purposefully forgetting his Iron Man board shorts he hopes are too small. 

“Last one out to the car is a rotten egg!”

Sound of Morgan flying through the downstairs and slamming through the front door tells Peter everyone is ready to go. Still, he waits. Listens as Pepper and his dad gather their things and load up the car. After a second trip, Pepper doesn’t come back inside. 

“Peter?”

He sighs, “Yeah, I’m coming!” 

When he skips down the last stair, his headphones are over his ears without any music playing. Avoidance technique number one. 

Only, his left arm is tugged on gently until Peter is facing his dad. Tony gives him a quick warning smile before giving Peter a temple kiss. He closes his eyes, leaning into the other man, basking in the affection. They stay there for a few beats. 

“C’mon, little miss gets impatient easy,” his dad nudges him onward. 

Peter sighs, following him out, as FRIDAY locks up behind them. 

Music is loud enough that he can’t hear Morgan’s chatter once he situates himself behind the driver’s seat. He faces out the window. Once his dad is situated behind the wheel, they pull onto the road. It’s weird because Peter’s only ever been inside an SUV with Ned’s family. Weird how a second child changes someone. 

Somehow along the route toward the airport Peter falls asleep. Avoidance technique number two. 

He must have dozed harder than he planned because Peter does not wake upon the car coming to a complete stop. Oh no. Because he is leaning against the window, Peter wakes up when his door is opened. Thankfully his seatbelt keeps him from being jerked back too severely. He slides off his headphones. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Planes wait for no one.” his dad snarks at him, hurrying him along as Peter takes his sweet time gathering his few belongings. “Chop chop, slow poke.” 

“Chill out,” he gripes back. 

“I have no chill. Haven’t we established that already?” 

“You’re not funny.”

“Oh, I’m hysterical. And you’re a moody teenager. Glad we got that covered. Do you need any help?” 

Peter glowers in response. 

“Let’s move it then.” 

Peter trails after Tony, situating his headphones back in place, and climbs the stairs up to the private jet Peter does not recognize. Morgan rams into their father’s legs upon their entry. Peter makes a beeline for what he hopes is the back bedroom. A firm grip keeps him from going anywhere. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Tony, tugging off his headphones and raising a single, unimpressed brow. 

“Um, back to bed?” he supplies. 

“Nice try.” his dad scoffs then proceeds to point him where Pepper sits. 

Peter stomps off in the opposite direction, steering clear of the back bedroom, and plops down with more fanfare than necessary. He wants to be alone. 

Less than an hour is all he gets for alone time. His dad sits down across from him, swiping his headphones _again_ and Peter is treated with Tony Stark’s full, undivided attention. 

He stares back, unblinking. 

“Whatever issues you have with me, please don’t take them out on Morgan.”

Peter blinks once, twice, then again as he attempts digesting what his dad said. “I’m not.” 

“Sure seems like it,” his tone is lofty, though beneath it lies his concern. “Your cold shoulder isn’t effecting just me.” 

Peter closes his eyes. 

“All I’m asking is for you to get to know your sister.” 

Peter bites his lip then says quietly, “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” 

Tony sighs, heavy with defeat. Leather crinkles as he stands up before hovering in front of Peter before saying, “You know I love you?”

He gets a crick at the back of his head from glancing up, quick to reassure, “Yeah, Dad. I know, of course I know. I love you, too, you know?” 

Tears line his father’s gaze but he stays silent, moving forward to press a lingering kiss to Peter’s crown then walks away. 

Peter’s stomach roils in acid. 

Nothing he does is right. 

He has been raised in an affectionate household. Peter has never been left feeling embarrassment for asking for a hug or giving cheek kisses or holding hands or any need for affection. He is loved and Peter knows that down to the marrow of his bones. His dad may not be the most communicative person, but he has never struggled showing Peter how much he is loved and cherished. 

Now he feels like shit. His fucked up brain tells Peter he is now an intruder in his own family and anxiety keeps his mouth shut. 

“Do you wanna color with me?”

Morgan’s appearance is unexpected. She stands cautiously, clutching several items to her chest, looking up at him with familiar brown eyes. Her nose is definitely Pepper’s, but other than that Peter looks at her and sees himself and his dad and it’s _weird._

“Sure,” he whispers. 

Her smile does not show any teeth but her cheeks sprout dimples. Morgan climbs into the seat next his while Peter drags over a food cart as a makeshift tray for them to share. As he sits back down, Morgan lifts up his arm rest. She sits close to him as she dumps out her supplies, several packets of colored pencils and at least five coloring books. 

Peter reaches for the top one, grinning when he sees that it is dinosaurs. 

“That’s my favorite,” the little girl nods at the booklet before going back to organizing her pencils in whatever type of order she is trying to assemble. “But I also have Avengers, flowers, princesses, and I think the last one is animals. I think.” her noses scrunches as she glares down at her semi-ordered assimilation in thought. 

“Is this the one you want?” he asks her softly, holding it out to her. 

She shakes her head. “No, you can pick what we do.” 

Peter flips through all five options quickly before declaring, “Let’s color flowers.” 

Morgan nods. Then she reaches across him and swipes the extra books and tosses them on the free end of her seat. She opens the book and flips toward the back. “I’ll do this side and you can do this one,” she first points left then right as she explains. 

Peter reaches for a gold colored pencil. 

Morgan reaches for purple. 

“What’s your favorite color?” she asks after a few minutes in silence, her focus down on her coloring. 

“Blue and red,” he replies with a small smirk. 

“That’s cool! Just like your suit. Mine are red and purple, which are almost like yours, but I think purple’s better than blue. Though I _do_ like Mommy’s suit even though it’s blue.”

Peter inhales a soft snort. 

And that’s how they pass they next hour.

Peter is shaken awake and he squints up at his dad, surprised to see he must have fallen asleep somewhere along the lines. 

“You’re fine; you and Morgan just fell asleep together. We’re here.” 

“We are?” he’s surprised because he normally can’t sleep through landings. 

His dad nods, claps his shoulder, and turns to exit the jet. Peter grabs his stuff and follows after him. 

California sun kisses his face as soon as he takes the first step off the stairs. Peter tips his chin upward, relishing in the heat and scent of salt in the air. It’s nice to be back.

*

“You’re not bumming it up all day; I refuse to allow this kind of blasphemy.” 

Peter lowers his sunglasses to glare at his father, who is standing directly in his sunlight with his own dark sunglasses in place, without any hindrance. “It’s the fourth of July. And what the hell am I slandering?” 

“Yeah, so?”

Peter snorts as his dad ignores half of what he says. “So it’s the perfect day to be a lazy beach bum.”

“And I say you’ve had enough time lazing around. We’re going to play mini golf. Now up! Up up up up up!” 

Peter groans, drawn out and loud. 

“Pete,” his dad sing-songs, a mischievous glint flashes through purple lenses. 

“No.” 

“Peter Anthony.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“No.” 

“You’re going. My word is law. Let’s get a move on.” 

Even if his dad says Morgan is the one that picked it, Peter knows it is a flat out lie. Tony loves miniature golf. Absolutely loves it. So much, in fact, that during Peter’s childhood it had been their favorite weekly outing together. Needless to say their competitiveness kicks into triple high gear when they play each other now and Peter doesn’t think he is being dramatic. 

“No,” he says off the bat. “No way.” 

“Yes way, c’mon,” he drags out his vowels, moving around and wheedling Peter to stand from his lounger. “We have a blast!”

Peter paws at his dad’s hands, pushing them away and twisting away from further attempts. “You take it too seriously.”

“Do not. I’m just trying to teach my kid the semantics of putting and his competitiveness rivals my own. There is nothing wrong with that, it’s good for the soul!” 

Peter glowers. 

His father cackles. 

Slowly, Peter rises from his lounger. 

“If you’re showering, I’m giving you ten minutes to get ready. Starting… now,” he says with enough pomp to rival royalty. 

Peter stomps off inside, tossing the middle finger behind him. 

“Love you too, Roo! Gosh, my babies grow up fast.” 

“It’s gonna be a long ass day,” he grumbles once he slides open the back door. 

Peter pushes his luck by taking fifteen minutes to get ready. His dad is notorious for running late so Peter feels five extra minutes are small dividends as repayment. Only Peter is not bombarded by his father when he makes it to the front door but his sister. 

“You’re late!” Morgan pins her gaze at him, every ounce of fierceness a four year old an possess oozing off her expression. 

She’s scary. And a freaking clone of Pepper. Peter shouldn’t be scared of a munchkin that doesn’t even reach his hips. 

“Nope,” he pops the consonant, projecting more confidence than he possesses, “I arrived precisely when I meant to arrive, sorry about your luck, little lady.” 

Morgan rolls her eyes and warbles, “Let’s gooooo already.” 

He matches the eye roll and ushers them outside, where he finds their parents in the driveway waiting on them. Morgan runs ahead of him. He’s pretty certain she isn’t meant to run off like she just did, but Peter doesn’t say anything about it. 

From the front steps he can hear Pepper explaining to Morgan why she isn’t allowed to run away from someone older than her when walking out to the car. A pinch of _something_ settles in his stomach but Peter ignores it. 

His dad leans against the driver’s side door, arms crossed and sunglasses still in place against the bright afternoon sun. 

Peter heads toward him. 

“Would you like to drive?” his father asks once he has closed the distance between them. 

“Um,” he starts, “Technically my permit expired already?” 

Tony shrugs. “You were two weeks away from taking your test and you would have passed it then.”

Peter mirrors the shrug then swipes the keys once his dad offers. 

He can be a chaotic driver but he gets them there in one piece, without any asinine commentary from the peanut gallery he’s toting around, which is very much appreciated. His dad makes one comment about taking a too sharp righthand turn. Pepper keeps Morgan entertained in-between the little girl’s uninterrupted chattering, but mostly the blonde hums in all the right spaces. 

“Whoa!” chirps Morgan from the backseat and Peter peaks through the rearview mirror to see the little girl’s hands and face are pressed against the window. 

Internally Peter agrees with the sentiment as he pulls into a parking spot. 

Morgan attempts to jump out of the car but she is hindered by child safety locks. Peter snickers. Next to her daughter, Pepper is stuck in the back as well. Tony and Peter exit then assist the ladies by opening their doors. 

Peter refrains from commenting on his father’s lack of disguise. A hunch tells him Tony doesn’t particularly care about being spotted out with his family. Peter shrugs it off and heads towards the front doors. 

A little hand slips into his own and Peter glances down, forehead crinkling, to see Morgan beaming up at him. Stays silent before flicking his gaze backwards at his father and Pepper to see the couple holding hands. When Morgan pumps their hands with more gusto than he is anticipating does Peter turn his focus back to her. 

Tentatively, he returns her smile. 

“Have you been here before?” she questions, pointing ahead at the neon-lit facility. 

“Not here, no. But I have played putt-putt in California before today.” 

“Are you any good?” 

“Oh yeah,” he smirks down at her. “I’m the best.” 

Morgan giggles, “Daddy says the same thing.” 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Have you ever played in the dark before?”

“Nope!”

“Well, you should have a blast. Everything glows in the dark.”

“Everything?” Morgan tilts her head and her eyebrows furrow. 

“Well, white colored items work the best, like your shirt and shoes.” he explains. “Dad picked out a great outfit for you.” 

“Nuh uh, I dressed myself!” Morgan is quick to correct him. 

On second look Peter can tell Morgan dressed herself. He isn’t into fashion but he knows better than to pair a polka dotted shirt with stripped leggings. He grins down at her all the same. 

He assists Morgan up onto the sidewalk but she doesn’t really need his help as she jumps high, clinging to his forearm all the while. 

“What are you doing?” he asks slowly when she doesn’t let go of him. 

“Daddy says you’re sticky.” she supplies and attempts climbing up his arm higher. “I’m trying to stick to you.”

He shoots his father an unimpressed glare over his shoulder before saying, “Really?” 

“What did I do?” his father asks, amusement coloring his question. 

Not feeling like shouting out his secret he ignores his dad’s inquiry and answers Morgan, “Not that kind of sticky.” 

“I don’t understand.”

He opens the door and drags them both inside, holding the door open long enough for his father to grab it before he opens a second one. “I’m the only one that can stick to things or people. You can’t stick to me but I can stick to you.” 

“So stick to me!”

“How about later?”

“When’s later?” 

“Not right now.” 

Her persistence is definitely a Stark family trait.

“This way,” Pepper calls and Peter spins around to see her and his father in line. “Morgan, stop trying to use your brother as a jungle gym.” 

Morgan giggles and doesn’t immediately let go, testing her limits. 

Carefully, so as not to jar her too much, Peter shakes out his arm. 

Morgan lasts through the initial two shakes before loosing her grip and she lands on her feet and only slightly stumbles into her mother’s legs. She is giggling the entire time, peering up at Peter with a glint in her eyes. 

“Again!”

He definitely just created a monster. 

Eventually it becomes their turn in line, so Morgan stops pestering him. His dad steps the cash register to pay. 

“Okay Morgan, what color do you wanna be?” Pepper asks her daughter as she lists off the colors. 

“Yeah that one!” the little girl crows in delight when she spots a hot pink golf ball. 

Pepper hands it over and takes a lime green one for herself. 

Peter’s reaching for the red one when another hand sneaks in and takes it away. 

“Too slow!” cackles his father, spinning his prize between his fingers triumphantly. 

“Really?” Peter sighs. 

“You know red’s my color,” his dad shrugs, unapologetic, then tosses Peter a blue golfball. 

Peter catches it. 

Pepper and Morgan lead them to where their course begins. Tony sidles up next him, throwing his arm across Peter’s shoulders. 

“Bet you I can get eighteen holes in one.”

Peter snorts, tucking his face to hide his smile. 

“What?” his dad presses. “Think you can do better than me, hotshot?” 

“Oh, I know I can get eighteen holes in one,” comes out of his mouth fluidly as Peter returns his father’s stare sans sunglasses, “I just know you’re going to miss two.”

“Ohhoho. Then it’s on, my young padawan.” 

They enter the area dedicated to miniature golf, room pitch black but lit up with neon lights from the individual courses, UV lights hanging from the ceiling, along with miniature sized ferris wheel and windmills and other attractions scattered throughout. Peter’s eyes adjust after a couple blinks. Morgan squeals in delight, the high-pitched noise getting lost in the din. 

“Ours is over here,” Peppers says, pointing left toward the easiest course. 

Morgan lines up and shoots first. She may not have the finesse that someone older than her possesses, but she knows what she’s doing. Her ball stays straight until it veers left, ending up about four or so inches away from the cup. 

“Wow,” he breathes out. 

“Great hit, baby!” his father cheers, offering Morgan a high five before she races down the faux green to finish her putt. 

Neither adult corrects her to wait her turn. Perhaps this is how they play as a family: allowing Morgan to have her turns first before Mom and Dad have theirs. Peter is fairly certain he always had to wait his turn. 

He’s so zoned out he doesn’t notice Morgan or Pepper finishing and it takes his dad nudging him to take his turn before Peter comes back out of it. 

“Stop daydreaming about beating me and get to it, kid.” 

So Peter does just that and sinks his first hole in one. 

“Petey, you got a hole in one!” Morgan cheers for him, jumping up and down several times, before offering him a high five just like Dad had offered her moments ago. “Daddy, did you see that?!”

“Yeah Dad,” he spins around and smirks at his father, “did you see that?” 

“I sure did Morgana,” his father chuckles and does not bother hiding how proud he is at their accomplishments. He’s oozing dad vibes. “Before I take my turn, I need my good luck kisses.” Morgan offers hers up freely and Tony steals a cheek kiss from Peter before he knows what happens. “Now it’s time to watch the master.”

And he sinks a hole in one. 

Morgan cheers louder for him. 

Pepper rolls her eyes and grins. 

They repeat the enthusiasm for the next couple holes. Morgan putts first, doing a lot better than Peter anticipated her skill sets, usually sinking the ball within two or four hits. Pepper does as well as her daughter. And Peter and Tony keep up their streak of sinking the ball inside the cup on their first hits. Morgan continuously crows over their accomplishments. 

One the fourth hole, Peter sinks in a clear shot, despite the increasing difficulty. (Though it isn’t too complex, seeing as how they started on the beginner’s level.) 

His dad matches his hole in one, only he does it with fanfare. 

So Peter steps up his game, going for more daring hits to one-up his old man. And of course his father retaliates. 

The end of the ninth brings Pepper’s mild irritation. Peter has to admit, she has mostly been amused but then Morgan stops being impressed with multiple holes in one by her brother and father on the seventh and starts getting whiny that she can’t match them.

“C’mon Morgan, let’s go ahead to the next hole,” Pepper says, reaching for her daughter’s hand. 

As they go on ahead, Peter turns to look uncertainly at his dad. 

Tony shakes his head, reassuring him, “Don’t worry about it. We talked about this and it’s fine. Morgan gets bored easily so Pep’s probably gonna take Morgan to the climbing playland.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Your putt.”

Peter sinks his tenth hole in one with little fanfare. 

And so the rest of the first round goes and they end up tied. 

“Best two out of three?” his dad propositions, quirking an eyebrow. 

“You’re on.”

They stay tied until Peter botches the twelfth hole. The ball lips the cup and rolls about an inch away. When his dad sinks a hole in one, Peter is officially behind. His momentum does not suffer afterwards, but he winds up losing the second round by that single stroke. 

Third round rolls around and Peter isn’t sure if he can win this one. His dad brought his A-game and Peter feels as if he’s years out of practice. Numbers jar in his head and start to blur any strategies. Somehow his dad has to botch two holes and that seems like asking for an obscene amount of espresso shots when FRIDAY’s commandeering the coffee machine. 

“You wanna shoot first this round?” Peter offers the switch as they wait on the group ahead of them to finish. 

“And mess up our momentum? No, it’s okay.” his dad declines. 

Thankfully the third round brings more challenges and they do not easily sink holes in one back to back. However, they do continue to match strokes all the way up until the fifth. Peter sinks his first hole in one. 

“No pressure,” Peter says after picking up his ball and stepping off the course as his dad sets up. 

“What are you talking about?” his dad situates his red golfball on the second to the left indentation then standing back up to full height. “Our entire game has been no pressure.” 

Peter snorts. 

And his dad misses by the golfball lipping the edge of the cup. 

Peter is now up by one on the third course and they are back to being tied all around. 

By the end, Peter won the final course thanks to the seventeenth hole. They still ended up tying each other overall, but his dad had one more hole in one than Peter. 

“When’d you get so great at this, my young padawan?” comes his father’s curious delight, tugging Peter into his side and squeezing him. 

Peter smiles up at him, “I had a great master.” 

His crown his kissed in return. 

They meet back up with Pepper and Morgan in the play area, a loud cacophony on noise that makes Peter wince. It takes some cajoling for Morgan to leave. 

“Daddy, will you carry me?” the little girl makes grabby hands. 

In a fluid motion Tony picks up Morgan and heads outside. Pepper clasps hands with her husband. 

Peter feels like an outsider, trailing after them silently. 

Back at the rental house, Peter attempts to hide away again and his parents allow it. 

The sun is still high in the sky and relentlessly hot so Peter moseys back onto the beach and about as far away from the house as he can be without leaving the property. He had a blast with his father during their mini golf competition but as soon as it ended his dark mood settles over top him once more. 

He huffs as he settles into his seat, quickly reapplying sunscreen as he goes so he doesn’t get an earful later. Or a sunburn. 

Peter has to have fallen asleep because he wakes up to his family joining him, Morgan tugging Pepper into the ocean, and his dad setting up an umbrella for shade. He isn’t really supposed to be out in the sun, though it doesn’t stop the older man. Peter turns on his side to watch his dad set out their belongings, which are mainly for Morgan. 

“Did you apply sunscreen to your back?” his dad calls out as he pulls out food to grill. 

Peter rolls his eyes, “No. I only did the front.”

So then he’s treated to his father manhandling him around so he’s properly coated in protectant cream. 

“Come help me man the grill,” his dad says once he’s finished being a helicopter parent. 

Peter agrees, digging his toes into the sand before trailing after his father. 

“Burgers first.”

So Peter unwraps the meat and hands the patties off to Tony one by one until he has several cooking. It would have been much easier to grill off the house’s patio but their makeshift area works just as well. Peter just has to make certain nothing blows over and everything stays on top of their blanket. 

“You can make the hotdogs,” his dad tells him as he flips the last burger onto the plate Peter holds. 

“Why do we need hotdogs?”

“Um, because it’s an American steeple and you like them?” 

“You just made six burgers for four people.”

“So?”

“So you don’t need cheeseburgers _and_ hotdogs.”

“I say we do.” he follows it up by breaking open a package of the specified meat.

Peter blinks at him. “I’ll be fine with a couple burgers, Dad; it’s fine.” 

“And you’ve got a fast metabolism and need to eat to compensate for it.”

“I’ll be—”

“Nuh uh, stop that. Don’t say it’s fine.” his father shakes his head and hands over the first hotdog to him. “Plus, Morgan’ll eat one.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay, so she’ll eat like maybe half of both. Don’t look at me like that! This is what happens when you have particular eaters for children.” 

“Why are you lumping me into that category? I’m not that much of a picky eater!”

“You were the same way at four.” 

He rolls his eyes and makes a few hotdogs, making sure none of them are burnt. Peter will admit to being particular when it comes to grilled foods. His dad is as well so he assumes Morgan inherited that trait. 

Morgan chatters while everyone eats. She does only eat about half of a cheeseburger and hotdog like Tony said she would and Peter’s pretty impressed someone so tiny could put away so much food. 

“Are we watching fireworks?”

“If you can stay up late enough,” Pepper replies, reaching across to wipe Morgan’s face. 

“I can stay up late. I stay up late all the time with Daddy.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, little miss.” 

“Can I have a juice pop?”

And on and on it goes. 

His shoulders relax. He laughs with his dad. He meets Pepper’s gaze when she passes him a water bottle. Morgan climbs onto his lap, playing with his hands until he gives in and shows her how he sticks to things. Malibu heat is pleasant compared to the high humidity he’s grown accustomed back in Manhattan but he keeps leaning his head back to soak up the beams before the sun sets. 

First firework of the night comes and it’s one of those weeping willow types that Peter has always loved, showering the sky in red. And there is something inside of Peter that… snaps at the noise and sight; immediately taking him back and he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t get away fast enough. 

Peter stumbles to his feet, shuffling Morgan around much to her confusion and terror, and once he’s somewhat stable on his feet he all but shoves his sister at Pepper. Noises are warbling and he has never experienced nosies so deafening before this moment. Another firework booms and cracks in the air. Peter gasps, covering his ears, still attempting to get back inside but the sand is slick and he’s sliding sliding sliding.

“Pete!”

His dad wraps his arm around him and stabilizes him. 

He breaks free, erratic and crying and inhaling storm and hearing things he wants to forget. 

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

When his dad wraps around him this time, Peter is more conscious of it but still unable to communicate back. One second he’s aware they are in California and then next he’s months behind back at Avengers Compound in upstate New York. He is in the midst of a full-blown sensory overload on top of the flashback. Generally he can’t stand to be touched but his dad is calming, a balm on a blistering sore. Peter falls into his side and doesn’t realize until after his dad hisses under his breath which arm he jostled. He whines. 

“Shh, it’s okay, kiddo. Up the stairs. Good. C’mon, I’ve got you.”

The house barely muffles the fireworks shooting off outside and Peter flinches with each whistle and explosion. A heart stops somewhere and he can’t do a damned thing about it. Grief will drown him tonight.

He is lead inside and they end up somewhere dark with a pretense of silence that Peter craves. 

“I’ll be right back,” he hears. 

He doesn’t respond. 

Then his dad is out of his sight and Peter panics, gulping in air and reaching out to a man who may never reach back.

“Pete, hey. Hold on; I need to get—”

 _“Dad!_ Please, no.” he wails, words clogged at the back of his throat, reaching out for comfort. 

“Peter, baby, I need you to look at me. Look at me.” 

He tries. He really, truly does. But brown eyes are vacant and smoke clings to everyone’s skin and there’s blood in the ground and on his hands and people disappearing on the wind again. 

“Focus on me, Pete,” his dad keeps talking and it hurts to hear a dead man’s voice. He wishes the radiation from the spider killed him so he doesn’t have to live through watching his dad die of the same type of poisoning he survived. “I’m gonna touch you, okay? You’ll tell me when it’s too much.” 

He nods at the dead man’s words because his dad is notorious for taking charge and Peter lets him because he is untethered without his anchor. He’s a lost boy in the middle of war. 

Earbuds are shoved into his ears, rough hands cradle his face, and Peter sees his dad but that can’t be right. It _can’t._ He just watched him die and every blink the smoke curls and every inhale brings a new lungful of death. Alive, dead. Dead, alive. Which was he? Peter can’t tell. 

Noise is gone. Peter cannot distinguish his own heart hammering away inside his chest; he knows it has to be there because he’s alive… right? He survived while his dad didn’t. 

He sucks in a breath, preparing himself to catapult over the edge. 

Instead a hand guides him forward, mindful and slow, before Peter’s forehead rests on a cottony material. It irritates and his hand is too heavy to paw at it, to move away, so he nuzzles into it. Something grabs his own hand and it must be strong, rivaling Thor’s strength, as his hand is moved and unfurled with no help from Peter until his palm is pressed onto a surface. 

A heartbeat. On the fast side, but steady. It taps his palm and Peter finally has something to focus on that isn’t death and decay and destruction. His hands tingle enough to shake but he refuses to budge. 

Several moments pass before Peter’s trembling lessens. Another before he unclenches his eyes and opens up to see a familiar torso outfitted in a weathered black tee. Glances up to find his father’s face, cheeks slick with tears and whites of his eyes now red, and he tips forward,

_“Dad.”_

He knows cries out but he cannot hear anything. 

Hands stay him from taking off his headphones. His father conveys his message without words. 

Because Peter is a coward he hides in his dad’s chest and spews his confessions he doesn’t have to hear. “I heard you die. Your heart stopped. Dad.”

Peter is shifted around until arms embrace him. His breathing stutters but he clings back just as tightly. 

“Five years and— five years and you _died_! I had no idea— everything changed and I’m—”

 _Alone,_ his brain finishes. 

But that isn’t quite right and he pauses. 

_An outcast in my own family._

He can’t say that to his father, he knows. If panic and anxiety were not already coursing through his system for control, then Peter would probably feel embarrassment for confessing to his father about his near death experience. Briefly he wonders if his is how Cap felt: a man out of time. Five years is nothing in comparison to nearly seventy years. And yet Peter’s entire life changed because a madman snapped his fingers and Peter doesn’t fit within the folds now. His dad moved on and Peter knows he should be happy— he’s wanted Dad to marry Pepper for years. He loves Pepper and she is the closest figure in his life to a mother he’s ever had. Only he can’t stop feeling like a stranger in his own family; feeling like Morgan has replaced him. It’s incredibly selfish. Five years. 

“I don’t belong.” 

One of his earbuds is taken out. His equilibrium becomes unstable but a palm cups it to somewhat make up for the loss of the noise-canceling device. 

“Peter,” comes a wrecked voice. 

Peter meets his father’s gaze, shame coating his belly and throat. 

“Don’t you _ever_ say you don’t belong.” Tony is crying, his free hand wiping tears off Peter’s cheeks. “You do belong. You’re just as much my baby as Morgan.”

“Dad—”

“Shh, lemme finish. I’m sorry it took me five years to bring you back because I tried and then I stopped—”

“No, Dad—”

“I _never_ stopped missing you, Peter.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry; Dad, I—” his sobs break free once more and he can’t catch his breath because seeing his father upset feels worse than dying on a foreign planet. 

“No nononono, Pete, buddy, stop—stop it, we’re done apologizing. Both of us, it’s off the table, I can’t hear you apologize to me ever again.” his dad articulates, frantic and crazed. 

He goes to dive down to hide in his dad’s neck but Tony does not allow it. His chin is grabbed.

“I love you. Okay? My love is not, will never be conditional. You’ve made me into a better man, Pete. I’m not afraid to say you and Morgan and Pepper are my world. That’s the truth. But I never wanted you to watch me die despite having somewhat made my peace with it after coming to terms with you being Spidey. If it ever comes down to me or you… it’s always gonna be me. I can’t lose you, Peter. Not again. _Fuck_ , not ever again. I can’t lose Morgan or Pepper. You three are it. And if it meant saving the universe guaranteed my family would be safe… no brainer, kiddo. My only regret is you had to see it happen.” 

His chin wobbles. 

“I should have made you talk to me sooner but I wanted you to come to me with it. We’ll work it out. Cool? Therapy works wonders. We’ll set something up back home.” Tony rambles. “Are your senses still heightened?”

Peter nods. 

“For now: sleep.”

He clears his throat, “I scared Morgan. Earlier. Outside, I mean.” 

“She’s a tough kid. She just didn’t know what was going on is all.” 

“Will she—”

“Nope. She’s pretty enamored with you.”

“But I—”

“Sleep, Pete.” his dad commands, soft yet firm. 

Peter shifts around, surprised to find they are in the master bedroom now that he is conscious of his surroundings, until he uses his dad as a pillow. Series of fireworks go off and he flinches. The missing earbud is put back in his ear. A hand runs through his hair and his eyelids droop. 

He has a long road of recovery before him. Therapy, while he isn’t crazy about opening up to a compete and total stranger, is probably the right idea. He is loved and safe and home. 

Peter wakes with sunlight in his face surrounded by his family.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is, besides a clear avoidance for next chappy in Second Chances... oopsies. hailingstars asked if I'd writer a fourth fic and I was like "no but I am now" haha. I love hearing from you!!


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